fool's price
by Dezbome
Summary: Kind of AU.... Basicaly galbortorix's well deserve punishment... and he is simply refered to as The King i couldn't really picture my fanfic using name other than the reaper's R&R thank you sorry for the crappy summary.


_A death fit for a king_

"_Lord, the __King_ will see you now." The servant said with obvious mockery, seeming laugh at the thought of ever having a respectable king.

"Of course…" said the mysterious Lord with a smirk that was brimming with hidden intent, "But you should be careful of your distaste. He may not be sane, but he'll have your head for less than that." 

The throne room was a place of true beauty. Originally used for incredible celebrations, which were heard of across two kingdoms, but that was long ago. Over the years, the moth-eaten tapestries had lost their once golden luster. The long red rug that led to the throne was now a sick faded brown, a few shades from grey. The gold on the throne itself, had not been polished for decades, and was chipping away in some places, showing the ugliness of the old decaying wood below, a throne truly worthy for the present King. The stained glass windows showed stories of happy times long since past, were now reduced to memories, and the tales of merry lovers and enormous banquets no longer occupied the pane. Instead, the windows held thoughts of current sorrow and resentment for those times of joyous occasions and celebrated heroes.

The Lord knelt exactly twenty paces from where the King sat leisurely upon his withering throne. It had be exact, anymore, or any less and the King might take your head. Not that it mattered, this time the King was not paying attention; instead, he stared off into the shadow of a nearby statue, as if something was waiting for him in the eternal darkness.

"Now granting audience with the most esteemed ruler of our land, to Lord Kent of Tien." 

The King slowly pulled out of his dark trance and let his black, blood-shot eyes fall onto his guest. "What do you want?" he rasped, obviously angered, and seeming to recognized Lord Kent even though this was their first time meeting. "Sire, this message was delivered to my manor late last night… it's addressed to you." Lord Kent uttered as he pulled the letter from the beneath his cloak. The envelope was as black as death, and the untouched wax seal was the color of freshly spilt blood, Kent ran his fingers over the seal, outlining the scythe that decorated the wax, as if expecting it to still contain the warmth of life. 

"LEAVE US!!" 

The sudden frightened yell of the King, was enough to cause lord to whip his head round and accidentally be caught in the King's mad gaze. The door creaked with the pain of not being oiled for years as the last of the servants left. With the closing click of the door, the King leapt out of his chair, as a horse released from its starting gate.

"GIVE IT HERE!" he shouted, his grubby unwashed hands stretching towards the letter. The King grabbed the envelope from Kent's hand, and gingerly stroked the seal just as Kent had moments before. "It can't be…. It's not possible…."the King whispered so quietly, that had it not been for the eerie silence of the throne him Lord Kent would not have heard him. While tearing open the letter the King muttered other various disbeliefs. He stared at the parchment seeming to already know what message it contained. When the King was finished, he discarded the letter and staggered back to his throne. Lord Kent watched as it floated down to the moldy rug, and took a few steps toward the mystery, licking his lips in anticipation. He knelt down and reached to pick up the letter, his fingers were now inches from knowing what words could cause a king, who has felt nothing in recent years, so mush emotional stress. Lord Kent looked up suddenly remembering that he was not alone, but the King was too caught up in his own problems to care about anything Kent did. He picked up the slightly crumpled paper and read:

My dearest _King,_

You have been warned every night for the past five years, that this day would come, and yet, you did nothing to change your ways. Three signs to represent damage and sorrow you have brought upon your kingdom, people, and kin. Your soul will be tortured for an eternity for the crimes you have committed against you and your own. However, before I can have you. You must realize how you have wronged and your physical soul must be broken.

Three signs,

Three nights,

You will me mine.

When Lord Kent finished reading, he dropped the letter, and looked up at the King. With that same strange smirk, and a quick flash of dark intent in his red eyes, he addressed the King, "By your leave sire." Lord Kent made a deep bow, turned, and started for the exit, without waiting for an answer.

"NO! You will not leave. Y-you will tell me who gave you this!" Lord Kent turned and faced the King who now clutched the letter in his dirty white knuckled hand. 

"It was delivered to a servant of my house, and it given to him by a simple messenger boy." Lord Kent said coolly while idly running his fingers through his flaming hair, as if this information was common knowledge.

"I have seen you every night for five years," Lord Kent's body stiffened for a moment, "Your face haunts my dreams. I have known your name, and what you would say the night we met. A-and…. I know that my meeting you has brought a most terrible death destined to be mine. For what has seemed like an eternity I have known these things."

"Sire, if I may interject…. I believe now that _this_ night has passed. You no longer have _this_ night to dream of, so you needn't fear_ this_ night. And perhaps your dreams will be different?" with that Lord Kent left the King to his own thoughts.

"Perhaps…. You may leave." However, the King's order fell on no ears, and was answered by the empty silence of the throne room.

That night, while other more noble kings pray for their people, the King lies in bed praying for new dreams and his own safety, and he was answered with a new dream, although, it was most certainly, not to his liking.

His nightmare started as most do. In a somewhat familiar, yet it felt unfamiliar. The King threw off his covers and started to get out of his bed, eager to find what new dream awaited him.

As soon as his feet touched the floor, his body erupted in pain. He fell onto his hands and knees gasping for air, until the throbbing pain was too much. The King rolled over landing on his back. He had now started crying because his ache felt like there was a fire inside waiting to explode. The King looked for any sign of where this pain was coming from, and he found it. There was a knife sheathed into his stomach, the King was shocked mouthing silent curses for whoever did this to him. He reached down towards the knife, grasped the hilt, and pulled. His breathing stopped, the sweat and tears was no longer making their way down his face, the pain was gone, and all was still. A man clad in a black so dark that his figure was lost in the night that surrounded the King's chambers. 

"Your pain is nothing compared to the perpetual heartache you have caused. Wives, who will never see their husbands home. Children lost, abandoned, forgotten. Warriors, who knowingly died for your unjust and ludicrous reasons. For the souls, who will never know true peace, you will die." The man disappeared and the pain was unleashed once more.

The King awoke, drenched in a pool of sweat. He pulled up his gown searching for the knife, and found a red irritated scar wear it had been.

The day went by as most do. His subjects bowing as he passed. The King looked over his shoulder constantly, but no one thought this strange, never was there a time when someone had not want to snatch the crown for himself. When the sun left and night came, the King was terrified to go to sleep, for he knew that unmentionable horrors lied in wait, but eventually he did. And this nightmare was much worse. 

He was in his bed and he turned to get out like before, but found that he could not move. His feet were bound to the footboard, so he tried to lift his upper body so he could be released, but something caught him around his neck. His fingers leapt to his throat, and met a noose. As if on cue, the rope began to tighten and choke. The King scratched at the cord trying to get a grip between it and his throat, but succeeded only in drawing blood from cuts caused by his nails. He was desperately struggling for air, he should have been dead, but instead he was suspended in a half-life. Thee King could think of nothing but the slow weakening of his lungs thirsting for a breath. 

Again the figure appeared, this time clearer. The King could see a silhouette of the man's body in the darkness, and again all was still.

"For years you have slowly choked the wealth and prosperity from your people and land. You gorge upon enormous amounts of food, stuffing your face along with your loyal lords and Ladies, while your country starves. So many will never again breathe because they have wasted away before your eyes begging for table scraps, and you thought only of yourself. For this you will die."

The King bolted upright gasping for air, and felt his throat searching for the rope that had encircled it, but found nothing. He ran to the other side of his chambers and inspected his throat in his looking glass, around his neck was an easily noticed red rash obviously left by a rope. That day he wore a high collared coat.

The King was sitting by the fireplace in his chambers, refusing to go to sleep, when it happened. A blood-curdling scream echoed in the King's mind. He got up out of his chair, walked across the room, and opened the door. The King looked into the empty candle-lit corridor, and another scream came, not from his mind, down the hall by his throne room. He started down the hallway in small steps, then his pace quickened to long strides, almost at a run, when the third scream came. He stopped at the entrance to the throne room, and stood frozen with fear staring at the handle. The forth scream sounded. His hand launched and grabbed the cold metal, and he pulled the door open with more strength than was needed. 

The room was empty accept for the parting sounds of the forth scream. The King ran to right and took a sword from its place on the wall. "I won't let you take me. This is my world, so different from yours of dreams. You cannot touch me here. YOU CANNOT TOUCH ME HERE!!" the flames of the candles flickered with his challenge. The King caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye; he spun, stabbed, and to his surprise, hit something. The King lifted his gaze to see the man he had dealt this mortal wound. "Lord Kent?" the King whispered letting go of his weapon and backing away, "W-w-what are you doing here? How… I didn't mean to... it wasn't meant for you…" but Lord Kent was not paying any attention to what the King said; instead, he was pulling out the sword. All the while his face holding that evil smirk, where it should have been contorted in wretched pain.

"Lord Kent? Ha! I am no Kent." He said stepping towards the King, "I hate _that_ name, but my master said it was necessary for my mission to be a success."

"I don't understand…. You are Lord Kent. I spoke with you just three nights ago. What mission?"

"Ay, you spoke with me. I _had_ to meet you under _that_ name, I needed to deliver the message. Your guards would not have let me see you if I'd said Lord Grim, or the Ferrier of souls."

"Lord Grim? I am afraid you have grown delirious with the loss of blood. Come, I will see you to the infirmary."

"You mean this?" Lord Kent asked pulling up his shirt as if to show the King his wound, but there was nothing to be seen. "Fool mortals, always denying what is right before their eyes. The Grim, black dog, Angel of death, these are names for the living to use. I have but one true name…. I am Cain, and my brother has sent me for your soul."

Cruel realization hit the King hard he fell to his knees and somehow manage to say something through his cold fear, "What are you going to do to me?"

"You will burn in the fiery pits of hell, as the many innocents that have died by your hand dance around your body lit a flame. Just as the living will dance as they burn your castle and anything else that reminds them of your rule to the ground. We all have a punishment that we must eventually serve. Now let me get on with mine… I'm not aloud to take you until you except your fate."

"And what for is your punishment served?" ask the King trying to keep his calm.

"I serve for corruption. More specifically, for committing the first murder."

"The first… but I see you and I am no fool, you have not known thirty summers, let alone an eternity…," the King said almost laughing and forgetting the situation.

"Ha! No fool indeed! You think the Maker would be so kind as to lend me, the creator of corruption and despair, the curtsy of growing old and dying! Think again King of fools! My punishment is to guide souls to be judge by my whelp of a brother. Forced to wander the earth and bring the dead to justice. Yet to be dead would be justice enough. To never again hear the call of battle, to have worms and maggots be your devoted soldiers until even they have no use for you… Now come mortal let the worms to their feast. That brotherly swine Abel waits to judge you with his _un-soiled _hands." The King knew his fate and no longer felt the need to voice any more objections, so he willingly followed Lord Cain to the cold dark depths of the underworld.


End file.
